Tales from the No Name Bar
by Aengeal Gladefire
Summary: Various short stories about characters in my Warcraft fan fiction universe. Rated 'M' to err on the side of caution.
1. Chapter 1

**~ Sickness ~**

Bruuk Barleybeard mopped up the last of the blood off the floor of the No-Name Bar just as Reprisals walked in with his young protégé Tiergan MacCoinnick. He acknowledged the nod from the thief and picking up the bucket, headed for the door to the back of the counter.

"A bit o'trouble there, Barleybeard?" Reprisals said as he took a seat. "Not like you to be a'cleanin' jes because, yanno."

"Nah. Just a warning to somebody a little slow on their payments," Bruuk said. "What'll you have, Rep?"

"A cherry grog, if you please," he said. Reprisals turned to the blond human female beside him. "Do you be wantin' somethin', me dear?"

Both dwarfs watched with appreciation as the slow smile on her face seemed to flow on until her entire body was a warm expression of affection. "No, thank you," she drawled. "I have a few things I need to put in the mail. I'll be right back to take you up on that, Rep."

Bruuk was of the opinion human females were too stretched out and thin but watching her walk out of the bar was a treat all the same. He shook his head, smiling to himself and went to the back for the grog. It was more than likely that angelic face hid a heart blacker than his own.

Reprisals was still watching the door where the girl had gone, thoughtfully stroking his beard. Bruuk thumped a tankard down on the bar to get his attention. "Been up to much lately?" he said as he poured the grog.

"We were up in the Badlands and decided to look in on the Shadowforge in Angor Fortress." Reprisals took a gulp of the drink. "Tiergan needed to work on a few skills and I was in the mood for a little recreational mischief. It was all giggles and glee until we got to the main room. Pass it along that there's some big flamin' elemental makin' his home there."

"Will do," Bruuk said. "How's the girl coming along?"

"She'll be a credit to the guild one day," he said. "She's quick on the uptake as well as the toes. I've never had such fun teachin' the skills. A time o'two we had to make a run for it, laughin' the whole way . . ." As Rep got lost in his memories, his face creased with a wide smile.

Bruuk took a hard look at his friend. Well, he was as much of a friend as a rogue's life allowed. Rep was getting up there in years; his beard was luxurious with age though the hair on his head had receded to a long pony-tail at the back of his skull. Any dwarven female would see him as quite attractive, but a human? The man had to be more than a little daft.

He refilled Reprisals' tankard. "On the house, mate," he said. "Good for what ails you."


	2. Chapter 2

**~ Where Angels Fear to Tread ~**

Bruuk Barleybeard saw the human male in the doorway of the No-Name Bar and thought 'warrior' until he saw the tabard and the two handed mace he wore strapped on his back. By Magni's beard, a damned paladin, the bartender swore softly. Bruuk reached down and brought out the spiked club he lovingly called Bess and set it on the counter. There weren't going to be any good deeds done here today if he could help it.

The paladin sat at the bar after a friendly smile and nod to him.

"I don't believe I know you," Bruuk said without returning the courtesy. "What's your business?"

"A cherry grog, please," the paladin said.

Bruuk poured him a tankard and set it down in front of him. He looked the paladin straight in the eye as he put a hand on his own weapon. "Just to be sociable friend, best you not be in the reforming mood if you get my drift."

The stranger looked up from his drink with an honest-to-Magni twinkle in his blue eyes. He tipped his tankard just far enough to let several drops of the red liquid splash on the countertop. Bruuk looked down in surprise as the paladin drew a symbol in the liquid then covered it with the mug.

"There's only one paladin ever came out of House Ravenholdt," Bruuk said. "What's your name, mister?"

The other nodded. "Niall Ravencrom, at your service," he said. "I was told you were the person to see about news from Northrend."

"So I am," Bruuk said. "But the information isn't free."

Ravencrom sat upright, both hands on the bar. "What the hell, Barleybeard. If you know who I am then you know I don't have the family backing me. Damn army doesn't pay enough to cover your fees."

Bruuk held up his hand. "Hold your temper there, hot blood. I've heard the story how you got the handle 'Folly' but I want to hear it from you. That's my price. No negotiations."

Ravencrom went completely still and if blue were ever a fire, Bruuk was sure those eyes could turn him into a pile of ash. Suddenly the barkeep wondered if he had ever faced down a more dangerous human.

"What happened during her last moments on this world go with me to the grave," Ravencrom said softly.

"Ah, you loved her, then," Bruuk said. "Unwise, that. Best to leave the heart at home in a time of war."

"We're all young once," Ravencrom said. "I'll not dishonor Chrys's memory by turning those events into an entertaining story."

Bruuk studied the man in front of him. It was plain he wasn't going to shed any light on the puzzle but perhaps by giving a little on his side would buy his way into this paladin's good graces. There was certainly no waste in that, especially when he was a scion of one of the most powerful families of assassins. There are no stronger bonds than blood, whether on the floor or still in the veins.

"Well, in her honor I'll allow you a bit of slack," Bruuk said. "The Alliance is deciding who to send to Northrend and my money is on Stoutmantle. I figure he's going to be promoted and him and his boys sent to Grizzly Hills. Back water post, sure, but always best to go where the least amount of eyes are watching you, I always say."

Ravencrom studied the bartender for a few moments, then having come to a decision finished off the last of the grog. "Thank you, Barleybeard," he said. "I appreciate you understanding the situation." He stood up and tossed a gold piece on the counter.

Bruuk swept up the gold and turning it on end tapped it lightly on the bar as he watched the paladin walk out of the bar. He earnestly hoped for the best for any healer who was a member of that man's squad.

"Where angels fear to tread, 'tis Folly to follow," he quoted softly.


	3. Chapter 3

**~ Naming Ceremony ~**

The figure in the doorway of the No-Name Bar looked feminine but Bruuk Barleybeard had never seen a woman of any race so tall that she had to stoop to enter his establishment. For once he cursed his habit of keeping the lights so dim. It wasn't until she sat down at the counter that he was able to get a good look at her face.

"Good eve to you, my lady. How may I help you?" he said, trying not to stare at her astonishingly long ears. Her skin was blushed with purple along her jaw and around her eyes.

"Would you happen to have any spring water?" she said. Her eyes glowed, making them hard to read and her face remained smooth and unresponsive to the bar's shabby décor. What kind of a lady could walk in here without cringing in horror at the smell of old blood and stale beer, Bruuk wondered.

"I do, but I would not recommend it," he said. "Some say it tastes too strongly of minerals."

"Of course," she said as she covered the base of both ears with her large hands for a moment. "The mountain groans with every breath. The water here would taste of its pain." Her voice had a strange lilt to it as if her customary speech was reciting poetry or chants.

Bruuk found himself staring her, thinking that was the oddest thing he had ever heard anyone say about Ironforge. He cleared his throat. "I've gotten a few compliments on my cherry grog," he said. "It's a special blend of my own."

"I will try that, thank you," she said. "I am looking for someone, a human warrior named Dafydd ap Cathmhaoil. He is also known as Idlethreat."

Bruuk carefully sat the tankard on the counter in front of her. "Did you check next door?" he said, jerking his head in the direction of the war room. "That would be the best place to find him."

She sighed and slumped in the chair. "Yes. I have asked there and at the same kind of place in Stormwind. No one has heard of him."

"Tell me about the two of you," Bruuk said. "Helping people with personal problems is what we bartenders do. It comes with the job, you might say. Were you married to him?"

She shook her head. "What is this 'married'?"

"Lawful union between male and female," Bruuk said. "When a male has deep feelings about a female he asks her to join him in a ceremony that binds them together for life."

"No, he did not ask that of me," she said with a sigh. "There are no such ceremonies among the kaldorei. I just thought he . . ." She picked up the tankard and took a long pull of the drink. "I have been very foolish," she said as she gently set the mug down. Bruuk's eyebrows shot up in wonder as she gave no indication the strong brew had any effect on her.

"Well, their lives are so short, you see," he said. "It makes them greedy and self centered. You are much better off without him." He pulled a rag from under the counter and began to wipe up non-existent crumbs. "I'd suggest a nice long visit with your folks back home. It'd do you a lot of good to get over that wastrel as soon as possible."

Bruuk looked up to find her staring at him, her long eyebrows canted sharply upwards from a frown and those fantastic ears twitching. He had great trust in his ability to keep his face from betraying him however and smiled in answer to her scrutiny.

She downed the last of the drink and stood without a waver. "Thank you, but I am going to join a friend at some place called Amberpine. She tells me there is a shortage of healers in Northrend."

"Ah, you're an angel of mercy then! I applaud your sacrifice," Bruuk said.

"What is this 'ahnn-ghell'?" she said, gracefully tilting her head. "Is this a good thing?"

"Well, yes," he said and then wondered what kind of people wouldn't know what a guardian spirit was. You would think her race was immortal or something.

He reached under the counter and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen. With a great deal of care he drew a robed being with wings and under it wrote out the word in both dwarven and human. "I may have put in too many letters for the human spelling," he said as he handed her the picture. "But it's serviceable, I think."

She took it from him without any expression on that smooth face and left, again stooping as she went under the doorway's lintel.

Bruuk waited several moments before releasing an explosive breath. Idle owed him some real coin for this, dammit. He pulled out his spiked club from under the counter. Time to go collect.


	4. Chapter 4

**~ Respect ~**

The sound of metal striking stone rang out harsh echoes through the abbey much like, well, a soldier stomping through a church, Brother Paxton thought wryly. Marshal McBride hardly ever left his post at the entrance and rarely sent Deputy Willem in to see him. What would have either of them striding so noisily through the church to the library? Brother Paxton carefully marked his place in his book and set it down on the table.

Marshal McBride rounded the wall that separated the open room from the hallway with one hand up, palm out, and the other with one finger to his lips.

"Visitor to see you, Brother," McBride whispered. "One of them night elves. A female! Now don't be staring at her like you're some kind of bumpkin."

Brother Paxton sighed to himself. There were night elves in Stormwind, a little over a day's journey from the Northshire Abbey, now that the new harbor was finished and ships from Darnassus could dock there. He had not seen one himself but he had heard enough about them he was confident he wouldn't embarrass himself or McBride.

Nodding to the officer he said, "With your help and guidance, Marshal, I'm sure I won't cast either of us in a bad light."

The older man straightened, puffed up with pride. "I was among the first to meet them, you know," he said. "I was there in Theramore with Lady Jaina, the Light bless her, when she sailed in with a boat load of them."

"Is there anything special I should know about our visitor," Brother Paxton cut in before McBride went into another one of his tales of how he had single handedly built Theramore from the ground up.

The Marshal blew out the breath he'd taken in, fluttering his mustache, and thought for a moment. "Watch the ears," he said, leaning closer to the priest. "Their land is a dark one with all those trees so they go by sound more than sight. They can tell you're lying from a mile away. It's hard to read their eyes, what with them glowing and all."

Brother Paxton bowed to the old soldier. "Thank you, Marshal. Your insightful knowledge has helped me a great deal. Would you be so kind as to bring our visitor in? I wouldn't want her to think us rude to keep her waiting for so long."

McBride frowned as he straightened himself. "Well, there is more, brother …"

"We can discuss it later, Marshal McBride. I promise we'll compare notes after I speak with this night elf and discover why she has come to grace us with her presence."

"Oh, right, right," McBride muttered, slightly annoyed at being cut off at the pass. He cleared his throat and walked back the way he had come.

This time the good solder's metal sabatons on the flagstones were not as loud when he returned with the night elf. She stood a good head and shoulders taller than the marshal, who was tall for a human. The cowl of her cloak had been pushed back, revealing long white hair that shone bright silver in the sunlit abbey library. Her skin was almost as colorless but he could see a faint purple hue in the shadows on her face. Her clothing was plain but her bearing regal as if she were accustomed to court life.

"Welcome to Northshire Abbey, my lady. I am Brother Paxton. How may I help you?" he said as he got to his feet. McBride was right about one thing; the glowing eyes were a little disconcerting.

She bowed deeply before him, her hands clasped to her chest. "My name is Eburianar Gladefire. I am a seeker of the path of the Light, Brother Paxton."

He raised his eyes to McBride's and saw his astonishment mirrored there. "Thank you, Marshal McBride," he said. "I'll call you should I need any further assistance." The old soldier made a short bow to him and then turned and left. Judging by how quickly the sound of his progress faded he must not have gone very far from the library.

Brother Paxton held his hand out to the night elf. "I feel we should discuss this privately, Seeker Gladefire. If you would follow me, please?"

He led the way to one of the back rooms, only to find Brother Sammuel, the paladin trainer, and Llane Beshere, the warrior trainer, seated at a small table and engrossed in a game of cards. The small room was full of cigar smoke.

"Gentlemen," Paxton said and both men hastily got to their feet as the cards went flying. "Could we trouble you for the use of the room, please?"

Brother Sammuel gathered up the small stack of coppers and the cards, then stubbed out his cigar while Beshere clenched his, still lit, in his back teeth. The warrior trainer looked the night elf up and down, only stopping his appraisal when the paladin punched him in the arm.

"May I introduce Brother Sammuel, a paladin who trains those who aspire to that calling, and Llane Beshere, our warrior trainer," Brother Paxton said as the two men approached. "Gentlemen, Seeker Gladefire."

"May the Light protect you this day," Brother Sammuel said as he bowed to her while Beshere muttered a 'well met' from beside him. She smiled to each man in turn, murmuring a thank you without offering her hand.

Brother Paxton waited for the two men to realize they were free to leave, which to their credit was quickly enough.

"I apologize for our accommodations here, Seeker," he said once they had left. "We are not used to having visitors such as yourself grace our humble abbey. Did Archbishop Benedictus or someone at the Cathedral of Light send you here?" He pulled out one of the chairs for her to be seated before settling himself in the other.

"No, I went there but …" She looked down at her tightly clasped hands. "I did not feel I should go there. All that gold and the white walls and the beautiful stonework. I did not feel I belonged there."

She clenched her hands to her chest, biting her lips. Brother Paxton leaned forward and rested his hand on the tabletop within her reach.

"There will come a time, my child, when you will know the worth of your soul and that of bright metals and carved stone and where you belong in the world."

A single tear fell to splash onto her hand. He sighed.

"The philosophy of the Holy Light comes down to what we call the Three Virtues," he began. "The first is respect for others and ourselves …"


	5. Chapter 5

**~ Black Dog ~**

"Tiergan, your assignment today is Kyrkonvaki," the priestess said. Her slight frown warned she would brook no protests about the matter.

She tried to not be distressed; she really did, but the priestess was a sharp one and her stern look intensified until Tiergan nodded.

"I understand the two of you aren't able to find a middle ground," the priestess went on to say. "I offer this advice, child of the Year Without Spring. Observe the facts about this death knight and let those, and those alone, guide you.

"Take for example the name he chose for himself. In one of the humans' old languages, it translates to 'Black Dog of the Church'. Apparently they have or used to have this old ceremony where they sacrifice a black dog and bury it under a cornerstone of a new church." The priestess shook her head, her distaste of humans' customs plain in the compressed line of her mouth. "It is put there to guard the bodies of the dead and keep them safe for their god's call. The dog's spirit would also guide the souls to heaven."

The priestess leaned down to stare into Tiergan's eyes. "Think on this and why he chose this name."

Tiergan bowed to the priestess and went outside where the worgen younglings were gathered. One sat on the far side of the glade alone: Kyrkonvaki. A small boned, dark skinned man, he had long black hair that was braided into two strands that hung over his chest. He sat on a stone bench that was overshadowed by the trees near it at the very edge of the glade. Almost as still as a stone himself, he watched the younger night elf and worgen play and chase each other among the statues and ornamental shrubs.

The children suddenly all flopped to the ground, tongues lolling from their shape-shifted forms as they stretched out on the cool stonework. The oldest male worgen, Georg Briston, sat up and began to slowly shift back into his human form and then suddenly his transformation was complete. There was a round of applause from his playmates and teachers to which he made an elegant, sweeping bow.

Tiergan thought again of the priestess's advice and wondered why she had made a nearly insulting reference to her age. The Year Without Spring had been one marked by the death of many night elves; a time of war when the forest itself had wept. Why bring forth the memory of such a horrible time?

Georg had walked across the clearing to stand over Kyrkonvaki and Tiergan tensed, hoping the two young worgen would not start another fight. They were very nearly the same height but Georg had a heavier build. Then it struck her. Kyrkonvaki was a child - _had been a child_ - when he had died and then raised as a death knight. He was never going to have an adult male's bulk. In her unwillingness to help him, she had missed an important fact about Kyrkonvaki. She felt so embarrassed she shadowmelded and backed further into the shade of the hedge.

The two young men's voices were getting louder; that is, Georg was nearly shouting. Vaki was speaking softly but the unholy sound of his scourged vocal cords carried just as far.

Tiergan cancelled the shadow spell and strode purposefully to the two worgen. "Georg," she said with a curt nod to the shorter young male. "You will excuse Vaki and me, won't you?"

Georg bowed, his hand over his heart, and turned to stride away without another word.

Tiergan sat beside Kyrkonvaki and took his hand without asking permission. He bowed his head and turned her hand over to study her fingers, smoothing his thumb over them as if they were strange things he had never seen before. Finally he raised his head and looked away. His hand lay as a piece of stone in hers.

She made no sound. She did not move her hand; for his sake or for hers, she wasn't sure.


End file.
